Expiration Invalidation
by squishychickies
Summary: Harry Potter has a complicated plot that requires complicated potions. Fortunately, Draco Malfoy is very good at those. In other words: Harry is a worse potions-maker than ever, Draco has mastered the art of pranking, and neither of them quite know what they're doing until they're doing it. An eighth year story.
1. Chapter 1

The gray-bricked dungeon was hot and humid. The noticeable odor of vomit wafted lazily through the room. Longbottom looked ready to cry as he gazed helplessly into his cauldron.

N.E.W.T. Potions was business as usual-that is to say that for Draco Malfoy, it was going excellently. His Buff-It-Up solution, a chunky orange potion that provided whoever drank it with massive, bulging muscles, looked and smelled like cat sick; in other words, it was perfect.

Draco smiled in satisfaction and leaned back in his seat, observing his classmates as they continued to desperately brew. Finnegan, who had made it into the class by some sort of miracle, had achieved the correct color but still struggled with consistency. Padma Patil's potion was similarly troubled-it smelled and looked just right but was obviously too hot. If she didn't turn down the heat soon, her solution would bubble over. Granger's potion was, Draco grudgingly admitted, adequate. Longbottom was sweating so profusely it looked like he had taken a shower fully clothed, and his potion looked about as unfortunate. But those students, interesting as their misfortunes could be, were not who Draco was interested in.

Harry Potter's potion looked dreadful. It was an unnatural pink color, so bright that Draco worried he might have to wear goggles just to look at it. It bubbled and frothed sluggishly, so at least the consistency was alright, but it smelled like roses, which was a complete and utter mystery even to a Potions expert like Draco. He supposed it was a magical reaction between the horse's tail and dragon egg's yolk.

Draco grinned evilly and called, "Oi, Potter? Need any help?"

The Savior of the Wizarding World turned around in his seat and scowled as soon as he saw Draco. "No, thanks. But it looks like you could use some."

Draco opened his mouth to assure the Golden Boy that, no, a potions prodigy like Draco required no aid from a stupid pillock like Potter. But he didn't get the chance, because as soon as he took his attention away from the cauldron, Harry shot him a suspicious-looking grin and flicked something small and round right at Draco. It landed in his potion with a soft plink!

The effect was instantaneous. The potion, which had been happily writhing about in its cauldron, turned an angry yellow and stilled. Draco let out an outraged sort of gasp and stuck in a metal rod to vigorously stir-constant movement was crucial to a successful brew-but the damage had been done. His Buff-It-Up solution was ruined.

"Potter!" Draco howled, forgetting all about decorum and discretion and other manners his parents had stuffed him full of at a young age. "You bloody git! How could you do that?" His blood seemed to boil beneath his skin, but anger wasn't the only emotion that swirled beneath the surface. He thought he had outgrown the fun of arguing with Potter, but, well, Draco had to be real with himself. The specky git had started this fight, and by Merlin, Draco was going to finish it.

Infuriatingly, Potter smiled. He looked smug, hair mussed from the dungeon's humidity and cheeks pink from the fire beneath the caudron. His glasses were slightly askew. Draco wanted to punch them right off. "Your potion didn't look quite right," he said innocently. "I thought I might help."

Draco, incoherent with rage, spluttered, " Why did you bloody think that throwing sweets into the potion would help?" Subtly, he took a few calming breaths, and when he felt sufficiently fortified, he concentrated on adopting an uncaring smirk. Draco would not lose his temper, but hopefully Potter would.

The other students in the classroom (apart from Granger, who was clutching Harry's arm and begging him to stand down) looked on in silent awe as the argument progressed. They all seemed to be expecting some big explosion from Potter, as though Draco had been the one tormenting him. They probably thought the ex-Death Eater deserved to have his potions ruined.

Contrary to the expectations of the class, however, Harry looked impressed. "How did you know it was a sweet?" he asked. "Did you see it?"

Draco frowned and crossed his arms, surprised. "Well, it was perfectly obvious. The sugar would have reacted with the potion, since it's to be made strictly sugar-free, and...oh, bloody, why do you care?"

Harry said, "Just wondering."

"Well," Draco repeated, "it was obvious. Any first year would have been able to figure it out—you're even stupider than a mudblood!"

A couple members of the class gasped, and Slughorn stepped forward to feebly protest, "Now, now…" but nobody dared involve themselves as Harry took one step forward, face scrunched into a murderous expression.

" Don't use that word," he all but growled.

Draco took a step closer, arms angrily crossed. He matched Potter's tone. "I'll use whatever words I want."

"Yeah, I don't doubt that," Harry retorted. "You've always been a bigoted, narrow-minded, untrustworthy little piece of—"

Nobody found out what Draco was a piece of, because Harry was unable to finish his sentence. Draco pulled his fist back and punched him right in the face, breaking his glasses and possibly his nose. It made a satisfying crack.

For a moment there was silence, penetrated only by the sounds of Harry's heavy breathing. Draco shook out his fist to combat the pain of his split knuckles.

Then the class exploded, Gryffindors rushing to defend their savior by standing in front of him or aiming hexes at Draco. He felt pain bloom on his leg as a stinging hex connected, but it wasn't their reactions he cared about. He took satisfaction in nothing but the reddening of Harry's face as blood spurted from his broken nose and he reached out both arms to shove Draco to the ground.

Draco hit the stone floor hard and quickly scrambled to stand up, almost tripping on his own robes as he grabbed the nearest table to regain some balance. When he was on his feet again he stuck his face in Potter's and snarled, "You'll regret that, Potter."

He breathed, "Make me."

And then there was pandemonium. As Draco shoved Harry into the wall (which he hit with a satisfying thud) the other students rushed to take sides, Slytherins defending Draco and everyone else rushing to aid their savior. Anyone who wasn't brawling Muggle-style was either throwing hexes or named Hermione Granger. Longbottom threw a shield charm to defend some Gryffindors while Blaise Zabini tried to penetrate it with a stinging hex, Weasley caused an unfortunate Daphne Greengrass to explosively vomit slugs, and Granger and Slughorn yelled for a ceasefire; Draco heard little of the chaos. He was completely enthralled by his fight with Potter.

He took a painful punch to the stomach, gasping, as he shoved Potter harder into the bricks. He felt a kick connect with his leg as he grabbed his opponent's shoulders to keep him pinned to the wall. This was exhilarating. This was living, plain and simple.

As Potter pulled his fist back for what promised to be a spectacularly painful punch, Draco stopped for a moment and wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

Then he heard a sharp, distinctively Scottish-sounding " Petrificus Totalus !" and Draco was unable to move.

" Unbelievable!" exclaimed McGonagall for the third time. Harry and Draco were sat in her office in uncomfortable folding chairs, desperately trying to look anywhere but the Headmistress, whose voice cut over the howling wind outside. "The nerve! I offer you the kindness of an eighth year at the finest wizarding school on the continent, and this is how I am repaid? By a muggle-style brawl? I say, it's rather tempting to just expel you right now!"

Harry, who had been studiously examining the hem of his Gryffindor sweater, spoke up for the first time. "If you don't mind me asking, Professor, why don't you?"

The stern-looking Scottish witch exhaled sharply through her nose as she took a seat at her desk. "Because then, I wouldn't have the pleasure of assigning you a month of detentions! And a ban from Quidditch! And Hogsmeade!"

For a moment there was no sound in the office but the wind that shrieked past outside. Then Harry spoke up quietly. "That's fair, Professor."

He still looked rather ridiculous-they had been summoned there directly from the Hospital wing, where Harry's nose had been fixed and Draco's bruises spelled away. But neither of them had had the opportunity to change their clothes, so Draco's pristine white dress shirt was stained with Potter's blood. Though Harry's face had been cleaned, his clothing was in a similar condition and his hair was messier than ever before. He hadn't had time to Reparo his glasses, either, so he wasn't wearing them.

Draco thought the difference between the usual bespectacled Potter and the sight before him was rather striking. Though he looked a mess, without the glasses, well...another person may have described him as fit. Draco, of course, did no such thing. Besides, he was acting like an idiot, squinting helplessly at anything he needed to look at.

Draco protested, "A month? It wasn't my fault! Potter-"

"I don't care what Mr. Potter did," McGonagall interrupted coldly. "You threw the first punch."

"But-"

"I am ashamed of you both," she said quietly and sharply. Draco heard a quick intake of breath from Harry, and didn't need to look at the Savior to know his expression was probably stricken.

"I really am sorry, Professor," Harry said miserably after a minute.

"I know," the Scottish witch told him, her face unreadable. A moment passed, then, "You are dismissed."

Draco hadn't deigned to attend class for the rest of the day, and though he really wished she wouldn't, Pansy Parkinson took it upon herself to act as his own personal one-woman support team. She followed him to the kitchens and then to the lake as he sulked.

The weather was terrible-wind shook the trees and rose the tides of the lake, causing waves much bigger than usual to splash up against the shore. Draco wished he had thought of somewhere better to mope, but he already had decided on the shore and wasn't going to let Pansy see him change his mind. So they had taken their seats far enough from the water to avoid getting splashed, and Draco tucked into the food he had swiped from the house elves.

Pansy said, not for the first time, "We really need to show him his place around here. Imagine thinking that just because you killed one Dark Lord, like, an entire year ago, you get to go around sabotaging other people's potions for fun."

"Mm-hm," Draco said. He couldn't respond; he was too busy chewing his braised pork belly with parsnip pomme pur ée . The mashed potatoes were creamy and flavorful while the pork was juicy and succulent. The meal was much nicer than Pansy, Draco thought absently.

Evidently, Pansy had noticed he was paying his food more attention than her. "Draco," she whined, grabbing his plate and pulling it away from him. "Stop sulking! Don't let the Gryffindorks get you down."

Draco rolled his eyes at the childish insult. "Give me my food back, Pansy."

She refused. "You need to concentrate on a plan, not eating!"

"What kind of plan, Pansy," he demanded in an exasperated voice.

"To get back at Potter, obviously!" she said as though he should have known. And he supposed he should have. It was usually a Slytherin's first instinct.

"Why, Pansy," he began, impressed, "You're right!"

She preened at the attention, her short black hair swishing in the wind as she rose her chin importantly. "Don't sound so surprised," Pansy told him smugly. "Now, when is your first detention?"

"Tonight," Draco groaned. He brushed one hand over his blond hair to make sure the wind wasn't ruining it too much-he refused to show up even for a detention looking anything less than perfect. "It's every day for the whole month."

Pansy stuck out her bottom lip sympathetically, tilting her head at him. "And which teacher is it with?"

"Slughorn," Draco said, feeling, for the first time since the incident, rather lucky. For a moment, he had feared he would be serving the detentions under the strict Headmistress herself. The round, amiable Potions professor was a definite improvement.

"Will you be brewing?"

"Yes," Draco said. This was another small blessing-if there was anything Draco wanted to do while forced to spend time with Potter, it would be making potions. It was his very favorite hobby, even compared to Quidditch.

Pansy grinned wolfishly. "Then I suppose we return Potter's favor, don't you think?"

Draco matched her evil-looking smile. "I suppose we do," he said.

Once Draco had a plan prepared, the evening's detention couldn't come quickly enough. Much to his roommates' annoyance he found himself pacing the dorm, every so often running back to his trunk to check his notes to make sure the plan would work. Draco had formulated an original potion, specific for the very purpose of getting back at Potter. This'll show him , he thought eagerly.

When six forty-five rolled around, Draco strutted quickly to the potions classroom. He hoped it had been cleaned up after the afternoon's events-lots of potion had been spilled and, if the solutions had smelled the way they were supposed to, the entire classroom would have been filled with the distinctive odor of cat sick in no time.

Draco was early-Slughorn was sitting at his desk grading papers when he arrived. The air was, thankfully, free of any unpleasant stenches.

"Mr. Malfoy," Slughorn greeted when he arrived. "Please take a seat, you're a bit early. We'll wait 'til Mr. Potter arrives to start brewing."

Draco nodded shortly and selected a desk near the back to set up at. This seat was the farthest possible from Slughorn's desk, which would hopefully hide the nature of his potion from the professor. Not that Draco thought he'd be paying attention anyways. The potions professor tended to be quite aloof; it was one of his most Slytherin qualities.

They didn't have to wait long-Potter arrived a short ten minutes later. Draco was amused to see that, though his robes had been cleaned up, his hair was as ruffled as ever.

"Mr Potter!" exclaimed the potions professor joyfully. "Great to see you, m'boy. Have a seat anywhere you like."

Harry took a desk in the back, suspiciously near Draco's. This made him smirk-the closer Potter was to him and the farther he was from Slughorn, the better.

"Hello, Potter," drawled Draco. "I hope you don't find our detention too challenging. We might be brewing something other than first year draughts."

Harry scowled at him.

"Now, now, boys," chastised Slughorn pompously, reminding Draco irresistibly of Professor Lockhart. "No more fighting, please."

"Sorry, Professor," called Harry.

"Yes, sorry," Draco said with just a hint of sarcasm that seemed to go right over Slughorn's head.

"No harm done, boys," the professor told them, brushing his hands together jovially as if to clean them of his students' misdeeds. "I'll be asking you to try again at the potions you made during class today. I'll be happy to help if you need it." He clapped his hands together once and announced, "Time to get started!"

Draco pulled out his cauldron and lit the fire beneath it. When he visited the supply closet he made sure to grab all the ingredients necessary for the Buff-It-Up solution so as to avoid suspicion, but snitched a few extra things as well. If Harry noticed, he didn't say anything. (Which meant that he hadn't noticed. For all people seemed to love the Golden Boy, he couldn't keep his mouth shut.)

When the usual idiots weren't there to fill the room with steam and heat, the Potions dungeon was actually a pleasant place to work. It was refreshingly cool and peacefully quiet but for the sounds of ingredients chopping and potions bubbling. Draco let himself get lost in the rhythm of the work, in the easy routine of stirring and measuring and dicing. The potion was very quickly ready for the last-and hardest-step.

For the potion to work, he would need to temper it like chocolate and then pour dollops of it onto a flat pan-rather like a baking sheet-to cool and harden.

Draco pulled another, smaller cauldron from his bag and set it on his desk, using a ladle to fill it with potion until it held one fourth of his total solution. He let that sit off to the side, cooling, before he began to slowly stir the first portion, raising the heat steadily until the mixture was simmering softly. When it was hot enough, Draco picked up the smaller cauldron and poured its contents back into the rest of the mixture-this was called seeding, and would bring the temperature down again so he could pour it onto the pan. He turned off the fire and stirred until the two mixtures combined fully.

When this was done, Draco used a little spoon to make dollops of potion on the sheet, each one only a square centimeter large. He hadn't made very much potion, but there were still a lot more of these little chunks than he'd need. That wasn't a problem, though. Draco was sure that, if this worked correctly, he'd be quite pleased to have extra.

When all the little dollops had hardened fully, Draco scooped all but one into a little bag which he shoved into his pocket before either Potter or Slughorn had the chance to see. He was done, and so far, everything had gone exactly as according to plan. It was time to test the solution.

Smirking with satisfaction, Draco held the little chunk of hardened potion in his hand and called, "Hey, Potter!"

Harry looked over, face red from concentration. He'd clearly been working very hard on his own potion, though whether it had paid off, Draco didn't know. It certainly smelled worse than his earlier attempt. "What?" he asked.

Draco quirked his eyebrows. "See how you like it when someone ruins your potion!" He flicked the chunk of his own brew across the room, where it landed with a satisfying plink! in Harry's cauldron.

Before he had a chance to react, Harry's potion had exploded all over his face and shattered his glasses. "Malfoy!" he complained, using the sleeve of his robes to wipe the cat-sick-like solution off of his face. Fortunately, Draco's potion will have ruined Harry's, so it would be completely ineffectual.

Harry took off his glasses and irritably shook the potion off of them. "I just Reparo 'd these earlier!"

Draco shrugged, grinning excitedly as he waited for Potter to figure out what his potion had really done. "It's only fair," he told Potter innocently.

They both glanced over at Slughorn to see if he'd heard the explosion, but their teacher was dead asleep, reclined in his chair. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Whatever," Harry said grumpily, pulling his wand from his robes. He pointed it at his glasses and said sharply, " Reparo."

The glasses remained broken. Draco could barely contain his mirth.

"What?" Harry asked, clearly confused. " Reparo."

The glasses stubbornly refused to un-break. Potter furrowed his eyebrows in frustration. He grabbed a glass vial off a shelf and threw it to the floor, where it shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces. He pointed his wand at the mess and commanded, " Reparo!"

All the glass shards flew back together seamlessly, the cracks disappearing until the vial was perfect again. "So you haven't sabotaged my wand," Harry murmured, clearly thinking aloud. He realized with a gasp, "You've sabotaged my glasses! They won't repair anymore!"

"Bingo!" Draco exclaimed. He burst into a cackle, no longer making any attempt to hide his laughter. This plan couldn't possibly have gone any better. Potter just looked so frustrated, so confused, standing there all covered in potion with his broken glasses...Draco wished he had a camera. This moment was perfect.

"Wow," said Potter. He sounded...impressed? That wasn't what Draco had been expecting, not at all. "Did you develop that potion yourself?"

"Of course," Draco haughtily informed him. "As if anyone else could be so genius."

"Wow," Harry repeated, staring at his glasses. He tried fixing them again, but to no avail. "That's pretty cool, Malfoy."

What? How does he find this cool? This is not cool at all! Not cool!

Harry went on, "You should contact George Weasley. I bet he'd like to buy that off you. It's an excellent prank."

Draco's mouth fell open in a mixture of shock and horror. How was Harry not appalled? How was he not angry? How was he not wanting to punch Draco, right then and there? He spluttered, "That-I-it-I will not, Potter!"

Harry shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said amiably. Leaning closer to Draco (who sharply recoiled. Potter was still covered in potion, after all) he said, "Listen. Meet me in the unused dungeon, left of here, tomorrow night before detention. There's something I want to talk to you about."

The dark-haired wizard conjured up a flask and, squinting, ladled some of his ruined potion into it to leave for Slughorn. He didn't seem to care that it was completely useless as he set it on the professor's desk, told Malfoy to have a nice evening, and strode out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

That night was a restless one. Draco woke up from a very light sleep to the assault of warm sunlight and the sounds of his roommates getting ready for the day. He groggily groaned and shoved his face into the pillow, wishing desperately that he could blow off classes for the second day in a row.

Blaise, who looked like he'd been awake for hours, spotted Draco moping and yanked the covers from his bed with a flourish. "Rise and shine!" he sang cheerfully.

"Hey!" Draco yelped, shivering from the sudden cold. He jumped up to reclaim his blanket, but Blaise dodged effortlessly.

The tall, dark-skinned wizard smirked, dodging one of Draco's attempts with infuriating ease. "Wouldn't want you to be late for breakfast!"

Draco groaned and stomped irritably over to his trunk, opening it with more force than necessary to sort through his robes. Blaise threw the blanket back. It landed on his head.

Surprisingly, the morning routine helped wake him up; Draco was feeling almost normal as he followed Blaise and Theodore Nott out of the dorm and to the Slytherin table for breakfast in the Great Hall. His hair looked impeccable, his robes were clean and well-ironed, and he was once again feeling confident as he marched over to his usual seat and demanded that someone pass him the coffee.

Nott raised his eyebrows at him and said, "Drink any more of that, and you'll turn into a coffee bean."

Draco scoffed and took a long sip of coffee, just to spite his friend. Nott just shrugged and said, "You are what you eat. Or drink, I suppose."

The blond-haired wizard made it a point, then, to drink as much coffee as possible. Soon, he was quite literally buzzing from all the caffeine.

Like yesterday, it was offensively windy outside. But the sky was cloudless and bright, and Draco's mood steadily improved over breakfast. He listened as Pansy and Daphne chatted about some pureblooded Ravenclaw boy ("Isn't he so _dreamy?"_), and lost himself in the familiar ruckus of silverware clinking on china as he sipped his beverage and chewed his cinnamon muffin.

By the time the meal was done, he was even looking forward to the day's Charms lesson-in accordance with yesterday's Potions class, they would be learning a charm that temporarily made one stronger. It seemed the day would not be so bad after all.

That is, until Potter walked by the Slytherin table, satisfyingly sans glasses, and gave him an important look. He said, "Don't forget," and marched off behind Granger and Weasley.

Draco was grumpy all over again.

Charms was much less pleasant than expected (who knew such a simple charm could be so difficult!) and History of Magic was as dreadfully boring as ever. Throughout the long day the only entertainment came from bullying some terrified Hufflepuffs, and even _that_ Draco did without enthusiasm.

Dinner was disappointing, too. He complained to Blaise, "I don't see why the house elves can't serve anything decent around here. The elves at home always-"

"Yeah, yeah," Blaise interrupted, mouth full of turkey. In that moment, he looked uncannily like Ron Weasley. Draco grimaced. "We all know you're too good for _this_ disgusting slop."

"Was that sarcasm?" Draco asked suspiciously, raising one eyebrow. "It better not have been."

Blaise swallowed his giant mouthful and smirked back. "It might just have been, amigo."

So, yeah, Draco's friends were terrible too. As he made his way down the stairs to the dungeons where his meeting with Potter would take place, he reasoned that, because his day couldn't possibly get worse, the meeting with Potter would not be _too _unbearable. He had decided that the Golden Boy was probably just going to prank him back, he would deal with it, then they'd both go back to their normal lives. No problem.

When he pulled open the heavy wooden door to the dimly lit room in which he was supposed to meet Harry, he was surprised to see that the Savior of the Wizarding world had already arrived. For all his other virtues, Potter was not known for his punctuality.

Harry's eyebrows rose as Draco shut the door behind him and pulled out a chair to sit in. "You came," he said, seeming almost surprised.

Draco rolled his eyes as he set down his bookbag. "Well I said I would, didn't I?"

"Actually, you didn't," Potter told him matter-of-factly. "I was just kind of hoping you would."

"Yes, whatever." Draco waved his hand dismissively. "What did you need to tell me? Make it quick, please."

Potter took a chair across from Draco and set his hands on the desk that rested between them. He looked rather dramatic in the dim, greenish light, his eyes appearing brighter than usual without the iconic round glasses. "I have this… idea," he began.

"Well, duh. Plan to elaborate?"

Potter inhaled sharply, nervously, and said, "Well. You know how, at the end of the war, the Dementors were on Voldemort's side?"

"Yes, Potter," Draco said. "Everyone knows that."

"Right, well, just checking," Potter told him, annoyed. He fidgeted in his seat. "So, they Kissed a lot of people on the Light side, and every Kiss victim ended up dying."

"Okay?" Draco asked. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Dementors don't destroy souls," Harry informed him. "They only store them. So if someone died after they were Kissed, their bodies would be dead, but their souls intact."

Draco gasped sharply. "You're saying-"

"If we can get the souls away from the dementors safely, the Kiss victims could be resurrected."

Draco's heart was beating so quickly, he feared it would pop right out of his chest. He was shaking, and sweating, and, well, _bloody fucking hell. _"Why are you telling me this?" he demanded in a whisper.

"You're the best at Potions in the school, now that Snape's gone. I need your help," Harry pleaded, looking rather sweaty and about as anxious as Draco was overwhelmed.

Draco stood up sharply, almost knocking over the chair. He had to get out of there that instant. "No, I'm not," he insisted, taking several steps backwards. "Get Granger to help you. I can't."

Then it hit him, and he froze. "Wait… Severus. Could he-"

Potter shook his head. "He wasn't Kissed," he said sadly. "I was… I was there when it happened."

"Oh," said Draco. His heart fell, almost to the floor. "Oh." He grabbed his chair back and took a seat before he fell over.

"But there are others," Harry said. "And you're our best option. I was testing you, when I threw that sweet into your potion. I wanted to see if you could identify the problem. And I was going to test you again, in our next class, but you made that original potion in only a couple of hours just to prank me. It was ingenious. You could be a potions _master_, in a few years, if you tried. Think of all the good you could do," he pleaded.

Mollified by the praise, Draco breathed in and out for a minute until he felt he could control his shaking voice. "Okay, let's just hypothetically say the potion is possible, and you can destroy the Dementors without hurting the souls. How are you going to give them bodies?"

Potter seemed immensely relieved that Draco was considering the idea. "Do you know what a Horcrux is?"

Draco shuddered. He was no ameteur when it came to Dark magic, but Horcruxes? Those were… intense. "Yes."

"Voldemort put a fragment of his soul into something inanimate, and while it was there, the item was sort of alive."

"Right. So?"

"I want to put each person's soul into something inanimate. Like, say, a desk. And you know how you can transfigure inanimate objects into living animals? Like a pig?"

Draco was starting to understand. "You make them into sort of Horcruxes, then you transfigure them into humans. And since they have souls, they should be actual, living people again. Like they never even died."

Harry nodded. "Exactly."

But there was a hitch to Potter's plan. "Don't you have to have killed someone to make a Horcrux?" Draco asked. He couldn't really imagine Harry having killed anyone but Voldemort, which would mean they could only resurrect one person. "I haven't, so I couldn't make any…"

Potter looked immensely uncomfortable. He said shortly, "I could make six."

Draco gasped. "Six?" he demanded incredulously. "Who-?"

"It doesn't matter," interrupted Potter. "Are you in?"

Draco closed his eyes and breathed in and out, thinking intensely. What Potter was offering had every chance of failure. Of heartbreak. Of danger. But it was also a chance to atone for his wrongdoings during the war. It was a rare opportunity to redeem himself.

If this worked, he could be famous for actual, genuine, positive deeds instead of for having been a Death Eater. He could make the Malfoy family as prominent and respected as it had ever been, or more. He could stop feeling guilty.

Draco reached out a pale, shaking, sweaty hand. "I'll do it."

Potter reached out his own hand, and they shared their very first handshake. "Meet me here again tomorrow. Tell no-one."

Firmly, determinedly, he added, "You will _not _regret this."


End file.
